


Our Definition

by Brorifles (Kyloisadisneyprincess)



Series: Good Omens snapshots [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Drug Use, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, No Sex, Softie Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 03:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyloisadisneyprincess/pseuds/Brorifles
Summary: Heaven and hell decide to destroy Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship by tempting Crowley with his deepest desire. Or Aziraphale is drugged and presented to Crowley on a silken bed.





	Our Definition

It was the first June after the apocalypse that hadn't when Aziraphale allowed Crowley to kiss him. And that must have been when Hell realized. Crowley and Aziraphale had a small issue with the new and intimate relationship they had discovered. 

The sensation of lip on lip was a lot like a buzzing in the ear that won't go away for Aziraphale. And he was grateful that Crowley hadn't held on when he wanted to pull away.

Hugging wasn't much better. It was almost itchy, but itchy in a way that made his skin scream and his short fingernails ache to tear the offended skin off.

He was touch adverse and Asexual and Crowley understood. But that didn't make either of them less disappointed.He knew Crowley wanted more and Aziraphale wanted to want but couldn't.

Crowley had the guilt of being the instigator. And it was the worst he had felt since the fall of man. He had made Aziraphale feel he was not enough. That he had to suffer to keep the demon around.

This could not have been further from the truth but Crowley and Aziraphale did not know it. Neither did hell, at least not yet.  
-

He should have known to struggle more at the smell of brimstone on the rag that was held over his nose and mouth. Hell had come for Aziraphale and they expected Crowley would soon follow.

He remembered instructions not to bruise him. That Crowley should be able to see his own handiwork. He remembers the drink being poured down his screaming throat. He remembers being promised while writhing and begging against the smooth bed as they watched him, An angel drunk on lust, that Crowley would touch him and make nebulae bloom across his aching body.

The situation came into focus.

And suddenly Aziraphale couldn't remember how to call his wings, couldn't lift his limbs. All he knew was that there was a strange burning in the pit of his stomach and a lightness to his head.

One of his captors sneers into a phone nearby.  
"Come and get your angel, Crowley."

The heat increases tenfold at the sound of Crowley's cursing at the other end of the line.

-  
Hell was normally never so accommodating.

Aziraphale was laid out against red silk sheets. His only adornments the rush of blood that tinged his face and cock. His eyes were dilated a only a thin rim of blue visible in the low warm light. 

The absence in his eyes shouldn't have bothered Crowley as much as it did. Almost as much as the begging. Scripted yet flawlessly delivered between moaning and panting breaths.

"Touch me, Crowley. Please. It hurts, I'm burning. This can't be the only thing it feels like. Show me, please, Crowley."

Desire is a funny thing. Aziraphale had never experienced any of the sexual sort. The angel having been wired for things like crepes, odd books, and drinking with old friends.*

Crowley decides that this is not his Aziraphale, who blushed in shame from ear to ear after consenting to a furtive kiss. Who twitched uncomfortably in a lengthy embrace. 

Crowley's state of desires were wired much different than the angel's. But he realizes now, upon coming face to face with the fulfillment of that desire that he finds it entirely performative. It's what he thinks he should think he should want. But doesn't. 

Hell, in granting his unattainable desire, has made it simple for Crowley to decide to let go.

It would be so easy. Easy to slide in against Aziraphale's flushed body. Map the expanse of tingling flesh with his hands and take what he's so long told himself was missing.

But that would be to admit that he thought that Aziraphale had been imperfect, unwhole, for being desireless. Crowley did not believe that was true and has never been one to do things the easy way. 

So, like the terrible demon he is he does the decent thing. He swaddles Aziraphale up in the sheets and walks them out of hell. 

Back at the book shop he tucks his angel into a much less grand bed and wipes the sweat from his feverish brow waiting for the affliction to pass.

When Aziraphale wakes again in his right mind the reader will no doubt expect that the demon will be rewarded. Not unlike a knight who marries a princess, after all finders keepers is the golden rule for spoils of war. Crowley, for his restraint will receive one of those chaste kisses or uncomfortable hugs. Or even! In more incredible turn of events the dam holding back our angels lust will just give way, to a litany of sex acts that our demon in shining armor is owed for his patience, his bravery, his state of just having a cock!

But this is not one of those stories. Aziraphale wakes, restrains himself from calling Crowley good and feels that he's owed a bit of cake for the whole ordeal. And Crowley is pleased to indulge him, sharing in the pleasure of watching Aziraphale eat, read, drink, and fuss over his demon until the end of time. 

For there are many forms of intimacy, many ways to know each other. Why then would Crowley let hell's imagination be their definition?

And all this satisfied him because Crowley believed it did.

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on tumblr with lots of typos. Follow me at ineffablehusbandfacts  
Or Legocrowleyandaziraphale


End file.
